


The Monster and The Human

by stars__buttons



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: (especially the Asriel one), Experimentation, F/M, Human Experimentation, Main pair is Sans/Reader, Mentions of Suicide, Rape/Non-con Elements, Reader Is Not Frisk (Undertale), Self-Harm, Sexual Content, Soul Bond, The others are mostly for giggles, reader is female, warnings at the beginning of chapters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2019-11-19
Packaged: 2020-11-09 01:01:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20844953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stars__buttons/pseuds/stars__buttons
Summary: Human souls are powerful and stubborn things. With traits often allowing for not heir survival, I TV would make sense that after some time of coexisting the moment would come when the science behind a soul would allow for the healing of monsters. When no human volunteers to allow the extraction of their soul, and secret group of scientists take You.When a skeleton is a funny mask saves you from years of torment, you heal and learn to live as a group of monsters (you now call friends) help dismantle the evil cooperation.





	1. The Room

_Warnings:_ Graphic mentions of violence and torture. Mentions of scars and implications of self-harm. Mentions of nudity, and graphic depictions of death/suicidal thoughts. If any of these themes are upsetting to you please proceed with caution or read another work (don’t worry I will understand)

A Few Thoughts

_Where am I?_

_How long has it been?_

_Will you ever escape?_

_Are they coming again?_

_S A V E M E…_

THE Room

The experiments were horrible.

The doctors would cut into your body and extract everything from bone marrow to blood to the lining of your stomach. And, of course, your soul.

The cell you were kept in was like a large room, making you feel smaller than you already were from malnourishment. Shackles were locked onto your hands, chaining you to the cold cement walls that encased you underground. The floor was similar, freezing beneath your body as you slept. No heat reached that far down into the ground. Why would the doctors spend valuable heating to keep one subject warm? The room was always pitch black, and the only light you saw was the light of the hallway as they transferred you to the experimentation wing.

Compared to yourself, however, the room was quite pleasant. You wore a ripped striped shirt, that was once a warm sweater, that now exposed your arms and your badly scarred stomach. Blue shorts covered only parts of your thighs, but were now covered in dried chipping blood. Your legs were scabbed from the constant crawling from one corner to the next, as you dragged the heavy chains behind you. Your wrists were rubbed raw from the steel shackles that hung there, scrapping them each time you had to move. It was bittersweet when the doctors would come to fetch you. You knew that you were going to be cut open and ripped apart, but at least your wrist would be able to breathe fresh air.

You were skinny. No, skinny is not the word. The stage before starving. Your cheeks and eyes had sunken in, your shoulder blades popping out from your back with unhealthy dimension. You hips popped out from your shorts, and your ribs were visible underneath the torn piece of cloth. Your hair went down to your shoulders, and choppy bangs hung in front of your eyes.

Scars riddled your body, protruding from your back, stomach, legs, arms, and hands. Sadly, not all of them were from the operations. Black and blue bruises laid on your upper arms, from where the doctors would drag you. They could also be found on your abdomen, where the punches usually landed. The crook of your elbows were speckled with many spots, all from different needles that they would inject me with.

You didn't know how long you had been down there, or if you would ever get out.

You didn't remember the sun on your face or the wind through your hair.

You didn't remember seeing any other colors besides white, black, and red.

No. you were a prisoner and you feared that you always would be.

The large iron doors opened with an ear shattering creak, as it scraped against the cement floor. As light flooded into the room, you shielded your eyes from the blinding light.

You could hear the lead doctor, or as you called Doctor Monster, from behind the door. The doctor’s silhouette came into view, casting a dark shadow across your body.

“Subject H-1 is still alive,” she mumbled, distaste on to top of her tongue. She scribbled down notes on her wooden clipboard with a ballpoint pen. The glare of her glasses blocked her blue eyes, and green scales was vibrant against the white lights of the hallway.

You bared your teeth into a snarl, as you clench your fists until they were white knuckled. You could feel your face grow red as you hunch your back.

The doctor shook her head. “Subject is _still_ showing aggression. Prepare to use force to transfer it.” The doctor was talking to someone behind the door. Doctor Monster stuck the pen behind her ear, and placed the clipboard underneath her arm.

Those were the words you heard almost everyday. Your aggressive demeanor melted into terror, as you scrambled back towards the wall. Each day you hoped that the wall would open up, and swallow you whole so you wouldn't have to leave. You would hope it would become a tunnel and allow you to escape. But each day the wall remained steady as you backed up into the barrier.

Two monsters came from behind the large doors, carrying tools to carry you away.

Horrified, you began to crawl to a corner, thinking you could escape. Your knees stung against icy floors, and your hands screamed for you to stop pushing pressure against them. The chains rattled on the floor, reluctantly scraping after you.

Though all your efforts were in vain, as a pair of large forceps grabbed you by your neck, yanking you off the ground. Your hands sprung to the metal clasped around your throat, scratching at your collar bones to get it off.

You tried to tell them you wouldn't struggle. That you would behave this time and that you wouldn't try to run. But your voice couldn't escape your throat, and only gurgled incomprehensible sounds came out.

“Prepare a control shock on your mark,” Doctor Monster said, her voice filled with boredom.

A face appeared in front of your view. A man with a sick grin on his face held a long metal rod. He pressed a button, and bright blue sparks flew out the end, buzzing wildly.

You wiggled to get out of the grasp of the other man, trying to get out of the way of the taser.

“Now,” the head doctor ordered.

The man shoved it into your side, the prongs at the end stabbing through your skin.

_Always in the same spot._

Hot flashes of electricity shot through your veins and bones, shaking you uncontrollably. The feeling of a sharp power running through was like a burning knife stabbing your nerves, frying your skin. You could smell your hair burning. Your wrists and ankles were the worst, as the shocks were attracted to the metal encasing them.

All the energy was sucked out of you, like a black hole in your chest. The man released the forceps grasp on your neck, dropping you limply onto the floor. Your head hit hard, making your vision spike with black spots, clouding your pupils with hazy pictures of shoes and bits of light. You bit down on your tongue, the iron taste spreading across your teeth. The musty dust rises from the ground, and waters your eyes, but you couldn't comprehend the reason why you would mind.

Your body felt heavy, like your blood was replaced with liquid metal, weighing you into the earth. You tried to sit up and to crawl away, but your body remained still as the gravity seemed to press down.

“She’s drooling again,” one of the monsters said, though you weren’t sure which one spoke.

“Fucking gross,” the other one replied, nudging you with his foot.

You could hear impatient tapping, most likely coming from the head doctors high heel. “Hurry up. We’re already late as it is. Grab the subject and let's go.”

They roughly unlocked the shackles from your wrists and ankles, throwing them away into the shadows free from the light. The air rushed to your bare wrists. It would have stung, but your senses seemed to have disappeared.

Even though your nerves seemed muddled to a dull point, you could still feel the sharp pain of strong hands grasp your upper arms and yanked your upper body off the ground. Your head remained limp, hanging from your shoulders, as they began to pull out from your dark lonely cell.

The bright fluorescent lights shined onto your body, as the iron doors shut behind you. The cement floors turned to polished white tiles, and you could see your reflection stained on the ground. The walls were also white, along with the ceiling, and smelled like bleach and cleaning supplies. The walls were stopped every ten or so feet by doors with circle dimmed windows.

The only colored that came into the corridor was the blood that slowly trickled down from your lips, smearing on the floor when your bare feet were dragged across the small puddles.

“We’re gonna be the ones that clean up this filth, right?” the monster on the right asked.

“Yeah,” the monster on your left answered. “Too bad her _super soul _couldn't just clean itself up.”

They chuckled together, while the head doctor whipped her head around, her magic sparks flying. “You and I both know that's not how it works,” she snapped, her claws clutching to her items tightly.

“Sorry, boss,” they mumbled.

“Just trying to have a bit of fun.”

“Well you know what happened last time someone tried to have a _little_ fun.” She snidely smiles, giving a curt laugh. “This little miscreant dusted three of my men with her stupidity and now we have more bodies to dispose of.” A finger was pointed at your head, as the doctor shook with rage. “Now unless you want us scraping you off the walls you will be serious and not be distracted by fantasies that help your miserable lives seem better!” Her voice was raised now. She seemed more on edge today than the other days she snapped.

The monsters nodded their heads quickly, shifting in their shoes.

She turned back around, her lab coat swishing back into place above her tail, and continued walking.

You never meant to kill anyone. It was purely an accident completely out of your control, and you still had nightmares of their bodies dissipating on your eyelids as you fell asleep. You could still hear their screams as they seemingly exploded.

By this time, you were able to meekly lift your head, blood still dribbling down your chin. your eyes couldn't find one clear thing, constantly opening in and out of focus like a broken camera. A concussion, you thought .

The corridor seemed to stretch on forever, nearing no end and they would be subjected to walk forever in the white bleak abyss into the nothingness. You hoped that this would be the case, and that you would forever be moving in a haze.

“The kind of accident to kill three men?”

The man stifled a laugh. “Must’ve been her super soul.”

The clipboard impacted against the monsters head, breaking into splintering pieces. She then grabbed the other one by the ear and slammed his head against the wall. “WHAT THE HELL DID I JUST SAY!” she screamed, as you fell onto the tiles. “THIS ISN’T A JOKE! NOW GET OFF YOUR LAZY ASSES BEFORE I FIRE THEM!” Her glasses slid down her snout, fire burning bright in her sapphire eyes.

She gripped her emotions, pushing her shoulders down and unclenching her fists. She exhaled a deep breath, her face returning to its emotionless state, and picked up the scattered papers on the floor. “Hurry up. We have to keep moving.”

You could've sworn you heard the men whimper as they stood up, wincing against the pain in their heads.

As the hallway began to come to an end, you lifted your head up and saw the doors. The doors that lead to The Room. Yes, The Room. The room where you would scream for an eternity as their scalpels cut into your body. As they took you apart and put you back together, before using prototype drugs on your muscles, and extracting your soul. Injecting and drawing. It seemed there was no way it could get worse. Needles and knives poking your brown eyes and drills in your bones.

Panic began to rise up into your throat as your heart raced faster. You slurred out a few no’s, your words tumbling when they left your tongue. You began to squirm, yanking your arms back and forth.

“Hold still,” one of them grumbled.

Your voice grew louder, even as your words clawed at your throat like a wild animal trying to escape. You planted your bare feet against the floor, anchoring your weight. Their shoes slipped against the tile, but your feet had enough friction to hold you in place. You levered them back, sliding them away from the door.

You ripped on arm free, the monsters ragged claws slicing your arm. You elbowed the same guy in the nose, knocking him back into a wall. You grabbed your other arm, kicking the other monster in the back of the knee and pushing his head down into the tile.

“Subject H-1 is loose in the main hall! Calling for backup!” Doctor Monster yelled into her walkie talkie.

One of the transfer men lunged for your waist, trying to tackle you to the ground. You ducked down, his hands going over your head, and crawled under his wide legs.

Next thing you knew, four pairs of strong hands grabbed you, forcing you onto the floor. You wiggled under them, still screaming for them to let me go. Tears fell down your scratched cheeks, like waterfalls in a burning forest.

They forced you into the room, not loosening their iron grip on your body. They slammed you down onto the operating table, where more hands appeared and held you in place. Leather straps flew across your body, locking you to the cold metal table. A metal grip was tightened around your head, perfectly fitting as to not allow you to move your neck. A wooden rod was rammed between your teeth, so you wouldn't bite your tongue off during everything.

The room was dark. Not as dark as the black cell you were held in, but dark enough to not be able to make out the faces of the people that crowded around me. Different metal tables were on the sides of you, holding knives and syringes of different liquids.

In front of you was a large machine, shiny from constant polishing. Tubes weaved in and out of the sides, like ribbons on a bike. Wires snaked across the outer metal, as veins stretch across muscles. A large needle protrudes from the end, pointing at your chest.

“Subject H-1 is secured, ready for prototype B-6,” a voice says over the speakers. Someone was in the control room, watching over you from a safe distance.

You heard the flicking syringes, as they pushed the air out. “Ready for the right arm.”

A few more clicks. “Ready for the left.”

“Inject now.”

Sharp quick pains entered your arms and legs, at your joints and in the thickest parts of each appendage. You could feel something enter your bloodstream, slowly, before racing through the rest of your body.

You wondered what it was. It was different from the last experiment, as the name seemed to change each day you was in this room. And at first, nothing seemed to happen. There was a pause in the room, a lag in time. It seemed the world stopped for a moment as everyone held their breath and didn't dare to move. As if moving would change the outcome of the drug.

Then you felt it. Your muscles began to shake, spamming hot of control. Your pupils dilated, shaking in your irises. You bit down on the rod, afraid the shaking would cause you to bite your mouth and lips. Your bones burned, like they were turning to sand then forming back into jello. Your skin stung against itself, getting hot as sweat seemed to sizzle off your body. Air seemed to get caught in your throat, turning to poison as you gasped at nothing.

You could hear the metal bed shaking beneath you, banging against the floor.

And finally, after long and strenuous moments, your soul appeared. Slinking from your chest and showing itself to the world, disputes your best effort to keep it concealed.

“Preparing the machine for level six, ready on the countdown of 5,” the voice states, the sound of buttons being pressed behind their words.

“_5._”

The machine buzzed to life, the chemicals in the tubes flowing into it.

“_4_.”

The needle grew closer, revealing it was the size of a pencil. Sharp and precise.

“_3_.”

Electric energy sparked on the metal, shining it with bright cyan light.

“_2._”

The needle was mere centimeters away, the sparks shocking your soul in quick flashes.

“_1_.”

The needle stabbed your soul.

The shocks were sent through your body, turning your bones to ash and your muscles to dust. Your skin feels on fire, the invisible flames eating away at your skin and turning it to rubber. Your heartbeat seemed to turn it a fast buzz, still having the full force of a punch against your ribs. Knives cut every one of your nerves, chopping them into smaller, more sensitive, pieces. Your back arched off of the table, each bone stretching out of place. Your teeth indent the wooden rod, your jaw clenching and then pulling apart.

And then you started _screaming_.

A Few Thoughts

_Was the room always so dark?_

_Was it always so small?_

_Was it always so cold?_

The Masked Man

You didn't know how long you had been asleep. Hours? Days? Weeks? It felt like you had been unconscious for years and years, but little rest filled your head. Your eyes were dry, and were hard to open, barely cracked to view your pitch black cell. Your bones felt like they had disappeared, and your skin was weighing you down to the floor. You felt no pain lying still, but adjusting proved impossible. Dull aches in your joints prevented you from moving, and you continued to lie there, blood dripping from your puncture wounds and drying to the floor.

A moment of eternity passed when you heard the familiar creaking of the door opening, painfully slow. You were too exhausted to feel panic, and awaiting the stronger hands to drag you away. Light began to fill the room, inching closer to you. The white lights creeped up your legs, skimmed your torso, and pierced your eyes. Yes, it was bright but you couldn't bring yourself to shut them. Standing far away was a blurry figure. A shadow almost. It walked towards you.

The closer it got, the clearer it became. A tall man dressed in black, with a hood pulled up over his hair and a plague mask covering his face.

Has death finally come for me?

So be it.

He crouched near your face. His fingers lifted your cheek, examining me closer. You didn’t know what he was thinking, and assumed Death was seeing if you were far enough gone. Your eyes tried to focus on his eyes, that must have been shining through the mask, but to no prevail.

“...”

No sound came out.

“... huh…”

Your voice felt like paper thin glass, ready to shatter under your breath.

“...he...lp…”

He leaned his ear down toward your mouth. You tried to lift your neck, to get as close as possible, but your head felt like a vice had tightened around your temples.

“...help… me…” you rasped, barely speaking above a whisper.

He ripped his face away from you. He breathed heavily under his clothes and you wondered if reapers or Death needed to breathe at all. Maybe he was frightened to find you alive. You were shocked as well. The man reached behind his back and pulled out a pair of bolt cutters. They wouldn’t be able to cut the shackles at the cuffs, but they could cut the chains. He positioned the links under the jaws of his tool and pressed down until it broke with a groan.

The end of the chain fell onto your raw skin, and you exhaled sharply. You would have cried out, if you had not been underwater at the moment.

“Sorry, I’m sorry.” The voice came from the man.

Your vision began to fade in and out. The shuffling sounded unbalanced in your ears, and his figure was moving like jello.

Him. Cutting your left shackle on your hand.

_Dark_.

Him. Cradling you as he shut the door.

_Dark_.

Him. Running down the hall. The lights turned red and a siren is blaring through the speakers. But you’re not fighting anyone, so why were they on?

_Dark_.

Him. Air blowing in your face. It feels colder this time.

_Dark_.

Him. Standing over you. You were on your back, and felt something tickling your arms. He was crouched over you in a military crawl position, watching something.

_Dark_.

Him. Placing a blanket over your body.

_Dark_.

A Few Thoughts

_Is this where you die?_

_After everything?_

_I’ll die here._

_Why is your skin on fire?_

The New Room

You feel tired. Are you sleeping? You think so. But how can you feel tired if you’re already sleeping? There is someone holding you. Well, you assume they are holding you. You feel hands on your neck and forehead, patting your skin. There’s a weird sound when they make contact. You conclude you’re sweating. Sweating? When was the last time I was warm enough to do that? There is not harm or bite in their touch. Is this kindness? When was the last time you felt like this?

You open your mouth to say thank you, but your tongue is too heavy to lift, and your vocal chords are too damaged to make a cohesive sound. It sounded like a door creaking. Or maybe a shelf breaking.

You feel something tap your open lips. You immediately shut them. No more medicine. Not anymore. This person may not be so nice.

“Please,” the voice says. They sound sad. “You have to eat something.”

Eat? It didn’t feel like any food you were used to. Rice cakes and stale bread and dirt covered fruit you couldn’t wipe away.

They place a cold hand on your cheek, and their thumb swipe down to your chin. They were able to crack your jaw open, and place a metal spoon into your mouth. You were about to close off your throat, or even choke on whatever was entering, but a warm and flavorful liquid spreads over your tongue. It’s soup. You can’t remember what kind of soup but you are sure you have had it before. A memory of cooking is displayed on your eyelids, but it seems like a lifetime ago.

You swallow, and breathe heavily. It was now that you realize you are hungry. No. Starving. You are absolutely ravishing at the idea of food. Your stomach aches and twists with pain. With no voice yet, all you can do is pant and hope your feeder gives you pity.

They sigh with relief. “Thank you.”

You allow them to feed you, until you hear the spoon scrape and clang against the bowl. When it becomes empty, and you’ve been given every last drop, they place something wet and cold on your forehead.

You continue to breathe hard, with your mouth open, in protest of no more food.

“I’m sorry,” they say, and the weight next to you disappears. “But too much will make you sick.”

They place a hand on your scratched cheek, and help you close your mouth. They brush a strand of hair out of your eyes, and then vanish. You feel a rush and/or chill run up and down your spine. You smell ice and smoke, and then nothing at all.

-

It’s. So. _Hot_.

You’re locked in a furnace and someone has left you to burn.

You are dead and Doctor Monster has decided to dispose of you. You were dragged out of your cold cell, with blue lips and limp eyelids, and thrown onto a pile of corpses. Drenched in gasoline, someone lit a match and watched as your once healthy body went up in flames.

And hand grabs your face. One of the corpses clasps onto your jaw. They are trying to consume you or kill you or tear you apart. You scream as they claw your face and rip your hair from your scalp. They pull you into the pile of bodies, deeper and deeper until you’ve reached the bottom of the pit.

Cold and dark and damp, filled with an empty weight holding your soul down. An icy grip pulling you through a wall.

_Why couldn’t I have just died?_

-

You wake up.

You see a ceiling above you, though that is strange. You can see. Your fingers lazily unroll themselves from your tightly packed fists, and you can feel a soft and warm surface beneath you. Your joints and muscles feel relaxed, unlike the sharp pains that greet you from a night on the cold floor. You place your hand on your body, and feel a blanket covering you. You lift the edge and look underneath.

Your scrap sweater and tattered shorts have been removed, and all you can see is the decomposing skin on top of brittle bones. Bruises line your stomach and scars and scratches poke from where your bones are sticking out. Your stomach is pudgy and sits above sharp hips and below hollowed ribs.

You notice no shackles, and not chains. You can breathe fine and assume no collar is around your neck. Just to be sure you poke it and find only skin.

You turn your head and see a maroon colored wall. There is white carpet and paintings of fine art lining the walls. There is one of a single bone, but you ignore it. You push the blanket off of your body and slowly move your legs over the edge. You toes touch the soft ground, and wiggle happily. You go to stand and stumble, falling onto your scabbed knees and raw hands. You wince, but are grateful that you were cushioned, ever so slightly.

You try to stand again and find your balance after moment. Your hands and knees are bleeding a bit, but you make your way to a staircase along the left wall. You place a hand on the railing, and you feel guilt for getting blood on the metal bar. You climb to the top and see there is no barrier between the floor of the upper level and the floor below. If you weren’t careful you would just topple over.

You see three doors along the walkway. The first door had some writing on it, but you don’t recognize what it says. You had been gone too long to learn to read. The second door had no writing and no pictures. The third door, at the end of the walkway, had another sign, but was quite different. While the first door seemed to scream at you, and had pictures and doodles around it, this door had a few words, and was written very plainly and very small.

You touched the handle and tried to turn the knob. Locked.

You walk to the second door. Turn the handle and push it open.

Behind the plain door is a plain bathroom with a toilet and a shower/tub, and a sink. The toilet looks completely clean and free of any filth, both dust and bodily. The sink is covered in toothpaste tubes. The toothbrushes are comically big, at least the size of your hand. The shower holds only a few bottles, all body wash related. No shampoo or conditioner.

You walk forward and touch the faucet of the tub. There is a white plug, seemingly unused as it left a ring of water on the side when you removed it. You look behind you, at the open door, and decide to lock it. Hopefully, whoever lives wherever you are will not mind. And if they do, hopefully it will take them a moment to unlock the door.

You place the plug into the drain and turn the faucet to the hot setting. You gingerly test the heat, and find it boiling. Slowly, you inch it to the cold side, until it becomes bearable. You fill the bath to the brim and step inside. The water spills over the sides and onto the floor, but you are too relaxed to care.

The hot water eases your pains and cuts. Your muscles begin to loosen and your joints are allowed to rest, the water helping to keep you afloat.

You grab the body wash and ooze far too much into your open palm. You rub it between your fingers and lather your body with it. It stings on your wounds but feels so delightful. The water begins to turn brown and grey, as you wash away the dust and dirt after years of it caked on.

You push the soap into your hair, and feel as the many broken strands fall away. They must have been held there by the dirt.

You stay there, washing and re-washing yourself until your hands and feet become wrinkly and the water becomes cold. You pull the plug and twirl your finger around the drain until a little water tornado appears. Something your mother would do for you. You gaze in satisfaction as all the grime disappears in the drain.

You stay like that for a bit, until you start to shiver. You squeeze your hair or the excess water and step out of the tub. The mirror is covered in steam and you wipe it away to find a hallowed person staring back at you.

You don’t remember the last time you looked into a mirror. It must’ve been at least five years. You had grown so much then. Maturing into a teenager and now who were you? A dead body that gave up long ago.

You unlock the door, and walked out into the hallway. The house is warm and doesn’t give you a single chill, despite the water droplets still on your body. You journey downstairs and find seem a gleam of checkered tiles in a room opposite of the leather couch you were asleep on. Curious, you walk in and see a fridge and a sink and pantries. A kitchen.

Your stomach growls but your body aches and yearns for sleep. Deciding you can always come back, you return to the couch and fall back asleep.

-

You awake to the smell and taste of ice and smoke. You open your eyes to see bright little lights, like a needle poked through black construction paper, staring back at you.

You open your mouth to scream but simply croak a terrified yell at them.

“no don’t yell! i’m not gonna hurt you.”

You scurry back, and fall off of the edge of the couch. You hit the floor and a few cracks of your bones popping, and scramble until a wall presses against your body.

In front of you, at least a foot or so taller than you, is a large, dark, and terrifying skeleton.

You try to scream again but can only cough at the monster. Not the most intimidating.

“i’m sorry! i didn’t mean to scare you. i was just worried about you.” He holds out his boney hands, almost in surrender, and slowly inch towards you.

You are able to whimper, and it’s enough to stop the monster in his tracks.

“okay, i won’t move. i’ll stay here. you can stay there.” He sits where he is, never breaking eye contact with you. “i’m the one who got you out of there.”

I really was saved by a reaper.

“i know it was monsters that kept you there but…” his voice sounds almost pleading, and fearful. Even pitiful. “but i’m not like them.”

Your breathing is still fast, but you lower your arms from your sides and face him.

His face turns from white to a light blue and he turns away from you. You can even see sweat beads roll down his head. You look down and see yourself. Still naked. Your mama did tell you to always wear your clothes, but it wasn’t your fault they were gone. Perhaps he is disgusted by your physique. Battered and bruised and barren. Tears form in your eyes and you pull your knees to your chest in hopes to cover up whatever dignity you have left.

Still not looking, the skeleton grabs onto the blanket from the couch and pass it to you. Well, tosses it in your direction. He is not close enough to reach.

You scramble to cover yourself.

He looks at you out of the corner of his sockets. Once he sees you completely covered he faces you again, with his blue face slowly fading away. “whats your name?” he asks.

You move your hands.- _H 1_-, you sign, not trusting your voice.

“what’s your real name?” he asks, a little sad.

You stare at your hands.- _I don’t know_-.

“were you ever given one?”

You nod. The name you were given was almost long forgotten, forgeign in your mind.

The skeleton seems disappointed by your lack of trust, but there was only so much you could do. “ill tell you my name,” he compromises. “im sans.”

The skeleton— Sans— scoots a little closer. An inch, maybe less.

“do you know where you are?”

-_No_-.

“do you know what happened?”

You tear up. -_Yes and no_-.

“how old are you?”

You frown. -_What year is it?_-

He tells you.

Your blood runs cold. The tears pour down your cheeks and onto the blanket. -_19 I think_-.

Sans frowns and his brow bone knits together, both in worry and confusion. “how long were you down there?”

You wipe away your tears, but its all for naught. Nothing can mend the broken heart you feel. -_12 years_-.


	2. The Confusion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You are adjusting to your new life, but the sinking feeling that it’s all too good to be true may just prove right.

_ Warnings: _ Mentions of past trauma (non-descriptive). Crude and foul language (but no slurs). Mentions of death and vivid descriptions of such. Themes of PTSD are also present. If any of these themes are upsetting to you, please proceed with caution. Or even find another work to read (I promise I won’t mind if you do).

The Questions 

“12  _ years _ ?” Sans demands, both angry and shocked. 

You can’t stop the hiccuping sobs that escape your throat. They wrack your chest and shake your body. You cough raspy coughs and continue to cry. 

“hey, its okay kiddo.” 

He wasn't very good at comforting you. Not to say you weren’t grateful he was trying but ‘It’s okay’ didn’t exactly make you feel better after finding out you were locked, abused, and experimented on for 12 years. You silently shake, holding your knees tighter. Your soul squeezes and pulses painfully, like someone or something is physically ripping it in two. 

Sans inches towards you. Even though your soul pangs with fear, you make no move to escape or flinch. He wraps his arms around you, barely touching your body, and pulls you closer. You don’t lift your arms to hug back, but you feel a tinge of something that makes you relax. 

He holds you like that for a while. Maybe an hour. If he is saying things or asking you questions you don’t hear him. You can’t hear anything at the moment. Just the dull yet deafening sound of your heart race in your ears. The chatter of your teeth is almost silent, but you can feel your jaw move up and down so fast and hard you know you’ll be sore. You feel bad for Sans. He must be uncomfortable (both physically and mentally). 

You sniffle and slowly move back, and Sans takes the careful hint and removes himself from you. 

“do you feel better?” 

- _ yes-.  _ A lie, and by the look on his face he can sense it. 

“can i ask you some questions?” 

You nod. 

“did you take a bath upstairs?” 

You immediately panic. He never said you could take a bath. In fact, he didn’t say you could do anything. Did you clean the tub when you were done? What if you left it filthy and he knows just how disgusting you are? 

“its okay if you did. i just wasnt sure if it was you. thought it might be my bro.” He scratches his skull, and you wonder if skeletons can itch. “he probably wont be back for a few days, but hes a work-a-holic so he could be done sooner.” 

The thought of living with two monsters is overwhelming, but you try your hardest to swallow your fear. 

“did you eat anything?” 

You shake your head quickly and forcefully. 

A small smile appears on his face, and he looks much more relaxed that way. “well are you hungry?” 

The pain in your gut returns and you nod meekly, hoping for something to eat. 

He chuckles a bit, and you were so used to sounds of anger that a laugh was almost terrifying to witness once again. “well kiddo, lets get you some clothes and then ill try to make you something. we have spaghetti but i dont want to toture you anymore.” He winces at the joke he made, realizing it was in bad taste. “but we have lots of  _ pasta- _ bilities.” 

Wait. Was that… a pun? 

Your mouth twitches. You can’t tell if it was funny or not but it certainly was making you feel  _ something _ . 

Sans notices. “yeah, my bro makes a lot of pasta, but i don’t  _ macaro-need _ anymore. not enough  _ thyme  _ in the world to eat all of it.” 

More twitches. Your chest is rumbling slightly. 

“and maybe if i keep this up ill get more than a  _ blanket  _ stare from you.” 

You cough and it was meant to be a laugh. Sheepish about the noises you cover your face, but Sans’ smile has gone from a smirk to a shit-eating grin. 

“there we go,” he said, straightening his collar. 

Now that everything seems much calmer, you are able to see just how well dressed the monster is. He wore a white collared button up, and had a black vest with thinly white vertical stripes above it. He wore a black tie and had a pocket watch sticking out of his vest pocket. The chain of the watch connected to the belt loops of his black dress pants. A dark grey leather belt, with a shiny metal buckle, was also situated on him. 

He seemed like a businessman. Maybe he was an owner of a popular store or a restaurant. 

“you can stay here if you want,” he said, standing up and stuffing his hands into his pockets. “ill just be going to my room to get you some clothes.” 

He began to walk up the staircase, and on instinct you grab onto his vest. He turns around and looks down at you, a brow bone cocked upwards. “you can't stay in the blanket forever, kiddo,” he reasoned. 

You didn't want to stay naked. You just didn't want to be left alone. 

You try to stand up quickly, one hand still holding to Sans’ clothes and the other tightly holding onto the corners of your only covering. 

“if you feel like you have to follow me, i won't stop you. i mean, who am i  _ kid _ -ing. with the way you  _ stair _ at me this as a special  _ case. _ ” 

More coughed and shaking. You can’t tell if you find him funny or if you're just happy to actually hear jokes for the first time in over a decade. 

You follow him up the stairs and down the hall to the end, where he pulls out a little metal key from his chest pocket. He sticks the keys into the lock, and with a click the door is open. You follow him inside and immediately step on crumpled up pieces of paper and files. In fact, the entire floor is covered in papers and clothes. There is a pile of what you can guess is dirty laundry, judging by the smell of it. There is also a… tornado in the corner. Holding more paper and pencils and pens. The bed is unmade and messy, with a single pillow completely squashed flat. There is a desk next to the bed, and more books and papers are scattered across and falling behind and against the wall. 

You make a noise and Sans laughs, a bit nervously. “I wasn't expecting guests.” That's all he says and he walks to his closet. 

Surprisingly, he has all his clean clothes neatly hung up on felt hangers. There as a dresser in there as well. He opens the top drawer and pulls out a pair of pajama pants and a grey sweater. He hands both to you and turns around. 

“I promise I want look,” he tells you, holding a hand up as if swearing an oath. 

You know that he's really turning around because he doesn't want to see how shriveled and broken you are, but you don't mind. Isn't shielding your eyes something normal people do? 

You drop the blanket to the floor, and step into the pajama pants. You pull them up to your hips, and find them much  _ much  _ too big for your stature. You have to pull the strings tight and you still feel too small. You are not tall enough to fill out the length, so you roll the legs up multiple times until you are sure you can walk without tripping. You pull the sweater over your head and come to a similar situation. The neckline is too wide and falls off one of your shoulders. You roll the sleeves until your hands are mobile, and fiddle with the hem of the sweater, that falls down to your mid thighs. 

You tap Sans on his shoulder. He turns around and has a calm smile on his face. He looks you up and down and gives a thumbs up. “much better. do they fit okay?” 

You shake your head and the skeleton laughs. 

“even if you were to fill out your body you'd still be too small. i’m just a big guy with a little lady.” He gestures to leave his room, and he closes the door behind you. 

“now let's get some food in you, yeah?” 

You nod vigorously, excited. 

You follow Sans down the stairs and into his kitchen. 

He pulls open the fridge and pulls out some containers, inspecting them. “i’m assuming you’re hungry. monster food isnt gonna do much for that. just heal you up.”

You start bouncing on the balls of your feet, and looking in anticipation at the containers. The thought of the bruises and scratches and maybe even the scars disappearing is enough to make your hope increase. Sans must’ve noticed because when he turns around, his little white dots widen. “you want to eat a bit of this while i make you some human food?” You know he already knows your answer, but you are beyond grateful that he is asking. 

You nod, trying to hide your excitement. You’re sure you look like a stray cat, but you can’t help but look with longing. 

He dumps a small amount of noodles onto a plate, and warm in a microwave above the stove. He motions for you to sit at the table, which only has two seats, and turns to pull out some ingredients from the fridge. 

You sit on one of the wooden chairs, and since at the feeling. The bruises on your behind and legs were being pressed, and your bones had little to no fat to protect them. You tuck the sweater underneath you, and use your arms to help keep you up. 

Your stomach rumbles, and you press a hand against it to stop the sound. If Sans heard, he doesn’t let on, and you feel relieved. Back in The Room, any sounds had been silenced. Any sounds not silenced were punished. A growling stomach was usually left to moan and rations were taken away. 

The microwave beeps and Sans lets out a little chuckle. He pulls it out, and you can see steam rising from the noodles. Hot food. A hot meal meant to heal you. You could be dreaming but you didn’t care. He sticks a fork in the middle, and places the dish in front of you. “careful,” he warns, giving a gentle smile, “its hot.” 

You wait until he turns his back before you start stabbing the spaghetti and devouring the food at an alarming rate. Once you swallow the first bite, you can feel your scratches close up on your cheeks and one of your missing teeth begins to grow. You look down your sweater and see the bruises fade into your skin. Hell, even your badly healed arm is as good as new. Excited to see yourself becoming well, you eat the food until you are scraping the plate clean. 

When the dish is empty, and only sauce is left, you look to Sans. His back is still turned to you. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows as he chops vegetables and adds them to a large pot on the stove. Sure he won’t turn around, you pick up the plate and carefully lick the tomato sauce off. Granted, it wasn’t the tastiest dish. Basic and plain and possibly undercooked. But it was food. 

Once you’ve finished, you press your hand to your stomach and feel it jerk. It feels the same, nearly empty. The pressure is the only thing that can distract you from the cramping pain you feel. 

“are you thirsty?” Sans calls to you, not turning. He must expect you to speak in order to answer. 

Testing the waters, you lightly press on your throat, where your vocal chords are. They feel better, not sore, and you’ve yet to cough. “...y...yes...pl-please…” Slightly broken, and shaking, but there it was. Your voice. 

Sans turns suddenly, staring above your head. He seems a bit disappointed, and you can’t help but lower your head, not daring to meet his gaze. “it’s not you,” he says, noticing your fear. “i was just hoping to see your voice.” 

You look at him quizzically. You don’t know enough sign language to ask him what he means. You just flail your hands a bit, wondering how to ask. 

He notices your struggle, and gives a mischievous smirk. “ill tell you when you ask.” 

You can’t help but pout. 

“but either way, i don’t  _ carrot  _ all.” He pours some of the soup into a bowl, and places a spoon in. “i can’t tell if you find my jokes  _ humorous _ or not.” 

You make a noise and it kinda sounds like a high pitched laugh. 

His grin grows so wide. He looks so peaceful that way. You wonder if you’ll ever feel happy again. 

He sits down across from you after giving you your bowl, and leans on one arm, holding his head with his hand. “if you eat all of it you can have more this time.” 

So he was the one who fed you. 

This time you don’t hold back. You use the spoon a couple times before discarding it and drinking straight from the bowl. You drink the broth down, at it tastes savory and warm. When the vegetables are left in the bottom, you grab the fork from the spaghetti plate and stab each one, barely chewing them. When the bowl is empty you look up to Sans and give him a pleading look. 

“don’t look so sad, kiddo. there’s plenty more.” He grabs your bowl and fills it again, and hands you a glass of water as well. “slow down a bit or you’ll throw it all up.” 

Sheepishly you grab the spoon and eat slower, deliberately chewing at least ten times before swallowing. 

Sans smiles at you. “Like a hungry little kitty.” 

You don’t respond or even look up, but your face grows red. 

A Few Thoughts

_ He doesn’t seem mean.  _

_ He doesn’t seem harmful.  _

_ He makes me feel safe and warm and… something. _

The Noises

Sans collects the bowl and plate, and refills your glass, and begins to do the dishes. You stand up and join him by the sink, and motion to let you help him. “wanna be a helper?” he questions, to which you nod. “of  _ fork _ you can help.” 

He hands you the dishes and you dry them with a cloth, before setting them in a pile, unsure of where everything went. 

“when we’re done with this, ill set up an area for you in the living room. are you okay sleeping there? if it’s uncomfortable you can have Paps room until he gets back.” 

You stare at him, confused. 

He notices. “to sleep and such. we don’t have a guest bedroom and the basement seems out of the question.” You understand his reasonings but it’s what he was saying that confused you. Was he letting you stay?

You look down to your bare feet, and swiftly uncomfortably. You grab onto his sleeve, refusing to meet his eyes. 

“or I can get a sleeping bag or mattress and you can sleep in my room. but then you'll have to help me clean up a bit.” 

You nod. You didn’t want to be alone again. The distant memories of cell mates seem a lifetime ago. You were the only one who survived. 

With the arm you weren’t holding, Sans pats your head, petting you a bit. “i’m not gonna hurt you. no ones gonna hurt you anymore, okay?” 

Little tears prick the corners of your eyes and you nod. You want to believe him, and in some ways you do, but the doubt you feel is so strong you can’t help but cry. You feel silly and heartbroken and relieved and scared all at once. You let him pull you closer, and cry into his chest. 

He feels warm, and he seems to vibrate ever so lightly. The light hum of voice is present in his chest. His hands pet your hair and lightly rub your back, and he feels so terrified to touch you. He smells like clean soap and smoke, and a bit of ice in his bones. As you cry into his chest, he apologizes to you. You don’t know what he’s apologizing for but it’s still nice to hear. You try to say thank you or sorry or  _ something  _ but can only manage to cry harder. 

He pulls away gently, and lets you wipe away your tears. “did you want to sleep while I clean up? or we can skip the cleaning and just take a nap. i’m so good at it i can do it with my eyes closed.” 

Finally, a little laugh escapes your chapped lips. 

“that-a girl.” 

When the dishes are left to dry, Sans walks to his room and opens the door. It looks the same, except the tornado collected a few more socks and papers. He walks to his bed and pulls the sheets off and replaces them with checkered new ones. He grabs a pillow from his closet, at its so fluffy it must be brand new. He places it next to the squashed one, and pats it lightly. “wow all that work made me tired. nap time?” 

He takes off his vest and removes his pocket watch before jumping onto the bed, and scooting towards the wall. He taps the side next to him. 

You’re scared to sleep right next to him. Unsure on why but you believe it has to do with the cold cell you were trapped in. 

“i promise i won’t bite,” he says. 

You slowly walked over to him, and stare at the bed. It looks much more comfortable than the couch, and the comforter looks warmer than the scratchy blanket. Sans looks at you, and you can’t read his face. He winks at you and it makes your face bloom. 

“aw kiddo, you’re makin’ me sad. i’m not that scary, am i?” 

You knew he was just trying to guilt you in, but it did make you feel bad because you were scared of him. You were scared of falling asleep with his so close. And yet at the same time you were afraid to be alone. 

You climbed into bed, and continued to face him. He looked into your eyes, and you quickly stared at his tie. “hey.” He lifted your chin up, and gave a reassuring smile. “it’s okay to look at me. you won’t get punished or anything.” 

You nod, and see that his eyes are like little star in a black void. Curious, you lift a hand and bring it close to his face. He doesn’t stop you, and you’re moving slow enough so that if he does want to he could. You place a hand on his cheek, and it feels warm, and soft. Even though it is bone it feels like it’s being protected by something. You trace a finger to his eye socket and follow the edge all the way around. He watches you as you explore his physical make up, and his cheeks turn that blue color again. 

You bring your other hand up and cradle his head in your palms. You scoot closer to him, and can feel your feet against his legs. You trace his nasal bone and chin and start down his neck. He’s breathing heavily and you look at him concerned. Does this hurt? You touch the different vertebrae and he inhales quickly when your fingernail scratches one of them. 

“it doesn’t hurt,” he says quickly. 

You poke his collar bone, and wonder if anything would stop you if you wrap your hand around it. Your fingers lightly hold onto the bone, and you move your hand back and forth. 

“Okay!” he says, much louder than his usual voice. “maybe we should sleep now.” 

He scoots back a bit, and closes his eyes. His face is still blue and you wonder what it means. You turn over your shoulder, and let your back face him. You pull the comforter over your shoulder, and burrow into the mattress. You don’t close your eyes, because you don’t feel tired, but you enjoy the feeling of the layers covering you. You want to grab more and more blankets to add to the nest. 

Unconsciously, you move closer and closer to Sans, until you can feel him on your back and behind. He takes a deep breath before he carefully places his hand on your hips. You flinch at the touch, and he whispers an apology to you. However, after a moment, his hands return and you feel okay. 

You listen to the hum of his body, but are disturbed when you hear a creak of a door downstairs. You don’t pay too much mind to it, but Sans perks up. He sits on his side, keeping a hand on your hip. You continue to listen and hear heavy footsteps walk throughout the downstairs. You turn over to face Sans. - _ Who—-.  _ He places a hand on yours, preventing you from finishing. His face looks serious and his eye lights move around the room, as he tries to listen. 

Shuffling. Shuffling. A crash. Shuffling. Scraping. Shuffling. 

You wonder if the brother Sans was mentioning was back early, but by the look on Sans’ face it doesn’t seem to be true. He pushes the sheets away and crawl over you, putting a hand up to stop you from following. “stay here. it could be dangerous.” He slowly makes his way to the door, and opens it very carefully, making sure not to make a single noise. 

He pokes his head out into the walkway, looks a bit, before exiting and leaving you behind. 

You get out of bed, and crawl to the door, staying low to the soft ground. You can feel sparks through the door, and you suspect Sans might be mad. The smell of ice and smoke is stronger now, and when you press your face to the ground it becomes intoxicating.

You crack the door open a bit, not wanting to disobey by leaving, but allow it so you could hear anything that happens. 

The sounds are a bit muffled and hard to make out, but you can faintly hear Sans. 

“don’t you know how to greet a pal?” His words are very friendly but he sounds angry, almost terrifying. 

You hear a surprised gasp or choke, and then a gunshot. 

You scream at the sound, and push through the door, and land flat in the walkway. Your heart is racing and your ears are ringing slightly from the noise. You scramble to get to your feet, but notice a shadowed figure running towards you. 

They push you back into the room, and place a grimy hand on your mouth. You see a pair of red eyes staring down at you, and pitch black skin behind white hair. Red horns sprout from his head, and the color makes you sick. _Those colors_ . _Their colors_ . Trapping you once more. 

You squirm and you feel their knees push into your thighs. You try to scream and call out but the pressure the monster applies to your face is suffocating. 

“Make one sound and I’ll put a bullet through that pretty little head of yours,” he whispers into your ear. 

He lets go of your face and stands up, ripping you along with him by your arm. He twists it around your back, and holds you there with a gun pressed to your temple. 

The bedroom door opens and Sans appears, holding a sharp object in his hand. His white eyes are gone and a single blue pupil stares at you, with cyan and yellow fire blowing out of his socket. You can feel the intruder shake behind you, and it only scares you more. 

“hey there buddy,” Sans says, his voice murderous. “i’ve got a bone to pick with you.” 

The man twist your arm harder and it causes you to let out a pitiful yelp. 

“close your eyes, kiddo,” he says to you, sounding much softer. 

“Put your hands where I can see them, bone bag, or I’ll decorate the walls with her head!” You whimper and the gun is smack against your face. “I said  _ quiet!”  _ he screams.

“sweetheart, close. your. eyes.” 

He sounds serious and almost angry with you, so you shut them tightly. You shake against the monster, and can smell smoke ignite in the room, as if someone lit the place on fire. You feel a wind or strong breeze blow against your face, and the monster seems antsy. 

“Hands where I can see them or  _ she  _ dies!” he shouts. 

“it seems like you’re gonna have a  _ bad time.”  _

_ _ Loud white noise pierces your ears and you hear the monster scream behind you. He lets go of your arm and you fall to your knees, still shutting your eyes tight. You press your face to the ground, covering your ears to stop the sounds of gurgling and terror-stricken gasps. You hear the sickening sounds of something piercing skin, and the thuds of bodies hitting the floor. 

“YOU SON OF A BITCH! YOU FUCKING  _ MONSTER! _ ”

You can hear Sans’ laugh, but it sounds empty and dark. “takes one to know one, pal.” 

And then  _ POOF!  _ A small explosion or a pop, and you felt something shower onto your back. You knew what it was. Monster dust. 

You scream into the ground, shaking uncontrollably. You sit up and scream, and pat your hands against your back and head and face.  _Get it off get it off get it off GET IT OFF! _You’re probably terrifying Sans, and possibly alerting neighbors with your screeches, but all you can feel is the monsters dust crawl down your back. 

The panic you feel closed at your throat as you clawed at your neck. 

You feel hands grab your wrists, and yanked back, still yet to open your eyes. 

“kid, kid it’s okay. you’re okay,” Sans whispers to you, keeping your hands away from your face. “you can open your eyes.” 

He lets go of one wrist and places his hand on your cheek, you hair, and your neck. It feels comforting and you know he is trying to calm you. 

You open them suddenly, and see his white eyes again. Calm and small and careful white lights staring at you. Sweat is beating down his forehead. On the side there is a black and blue smudge, and it almost looks like a bruise. You wonder if you made him nervous, or if it was the attacker. You whimper and fuss and try to make any words leave your mouth, but you don’t let a single tear fall. 

“he’s gone now— the bad man is gone now.” 

You shake your head because he wasn’t gone. You were covered in him. You were drenched in his body and his soul was gone. The air was filled with him. The thought of _breathing _him in was enough to make you hold your breath until you felt your head rush with CO2. 

“do you need a shower? i can get you some water.” He was scrambling and stuttering, trying to find a way to make it all disappear. 

You shake your head, trying to make his words stop. Just like those monsters in the lab and like those humans in your cell. They were all gone and all you could feel was their blood on your hands. Nothing can make it go away. Nothing can stop the image of their dying eyes and the fear before they pop.

“kid please say something. i couldn’t let them hurt you.” He’s pleading for you to feel better. You wonder if he’s afraid of you. If he’s afraid of what you think now. And what did you think? You thought you were dying. 

You hold onto him, practically crawling into his lap, and try to breathe him in. His scent and his clothes and the way his bone moved under yours. The soap and the ice, clean smell of him. He pulls your waist to him and cradles you in his arms, rocking you slightly. 

“it’s okay. i’ve got you.” 

A door downstairs slams open, with a loud bang, as the handle impacts with the wall. You jump and cling to him tighter. “SANS? ARE YOU HOME?” 

“shit, that’s my bro. he’s harmless but loud. if it’s too much i can leave and—”

You shake your head and hold tighter. 

He strokes your hair, flattening down the shaggy curls that were appearing. “okay, is it alright if he comes up here?” 

You nod, but it was so automatic that you wonder if he would believe you. 

“yeah paps! i’m up here!” 

The stomping went from the living room to the stairs, and all the way to the door of Sans’ bedroom. “SANS, YOU LEFT ALL OF YOUR ATTACKS IN THE WALLS!” It’s strange. You don’t remember hearing any extra noises. All you can remember is the sound of the gunshot, and you wonder if your mind tried to block everything else that followed out.

“sorry bro, we had a break in.” 

“WHAT IS THAT YOU ARE HOLDING?” You hear the stomps proceed closer and stop just above your head. You burrow closer into Sans, hiding your face into his shirt. You couldn’t bear to look into more white eyes against white bone with a black shirt and red tie. The look of most monsters here. “SANS, IS THAT A HUMAN?”

A Few Thoughts

_ The only difference between someone who’s dead and someone who’s alive is time.  _

_ I’ve already lost so much. _

  
  


  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh! My favorite skele-boi. And poor Reader. Poor Sans. Poor (enter character name here). I hope you enjoyed the second chapter!


	3. The MORE questions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bath and a dinner and some questions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOAH. It’s the third chapter! Sorry it’s taken me so long. My original piece didn’t get this far and I had to write everything from scratch rather than have to edit and add a bit. Please keep commenting! I love answering your questions and hearing everything you have to say!

The Monsters

You lay on the couch, with a blanket over yourself, and the end tucked under your head. You used to do this to hide from monsters in your closet, and now you’re doing it to feel safe around the monsters in the living room. You were still crying, but it didn’t take any effort. The tears just kept coming, but your breathing was regulated. You could hear Sans and Papyrus talking in front of you, at the table.

“WHERE DID YOU FIND HER?” Papyrus asks.

“i’ll have to tell you a different time, bro. i don’t think she wants to hear it again,” Sans replies. “we just gotta find a way to get her to shower.”

“YOU COULD HELP HER,” Papyrus suggests.

“uh, i think she might be more comfortable around a girl.”

“WE COULD ASK TORIEL.”

You shift under the covers, to face your back to the voices. There was too much happening and then talking about you right in front of you didn’t help. Sure you were in shock, but you weren’t deaf. They stopped talking, probably to look at you.

“i’m gonna go see if she’s okay. can you phone tori and ask her to come by?” Sans asks, keeping his voice low.

“OF COURSE, BROTHER.” Papyrus was significantly softer, but still much much louder than Sans.

You feel a hand on your back, and you flinch a bit at the contact. “heya, kiddo. how are you feeling?”

You burrow further into the couch, and sniffle. The tears have stained the pillow beneath your head.

“i’ll take that as a no.” He sat down next to you. “i-i don’t know much about humans but i hope you know I would never hurt you. not every monster is like that.”

You nod under the blanket, and let the cover be moved away slowly. Light hits your head and you’re able to see Sans there, looking down at you.

“and i’m not asking you to be okay or anything, but will you at least consider a shower? or a bath?”

You understand where he’s coming from. Walking around covered in dust wasn’t going to help you at all, let alone allow you to feel better and begin to heal. But the aspect of being alone wasn’t very attractive.

“TORIEL IS BUSY WITH THE AMBASSADOR,” Papyrus calls from the kitchen. “SHE SAYS SHE WON’T BE ABLE TO STOP BY UNTIL TOMORROW EVENING.”

“shit,” Sans mutters. “okay kiddo, we’re gonna play a fun game called ‘let’s see if sans can help with his eyes closed.’”

—

He ran the bath and gingerly touched his hand under the faucet. “is this too hot?”

You sit on the toilet lid, and lean over to stick your hand in the water. It’s lukewarm at best. You gesture to turn it up hotter, and he obeys. The water fills up to the top of the tub, and he leaves a bit of room to allow room for you to sit.

“okay, that should do it.” He stands up and wipes his knees. “do you need me to stay?”

You nod.

“‘fraid you would say that. okay get it.” He puts his boney hands to his eye sockets and turns away from you.

Sure, you can’t be naked in the living room but this is the bathroom. What did he expect? Mom always helped you in the bath. You shed your clothes into a pile, and step in, the water nice and hot against your skin.

You sit, and feel the water rise up all around you, and the steam opening up the pores in your face. You hug your knees to your chest, just in case Sans decided to be weird again.

“Done,” you whisper.

He turns and makes intense eye contact with you. He doesn’t look at the water, your body, the soaps, anything. Just your eyes. His cheeks are doing that blue thing again. “Blue.” You point to his cheek bones, only inches away from touching them.

He smiles a bit. “say it louder, why dontcha?”

“Blue,” you whisper again, but with more vigor.

“come on, kid. i cant see your words unless you use your voice.”

“Sans?” you finally say, actually using your throat. While it was soft, weak, and scratchy, Sans looks dead into your eyes and turns navy.

“Sans?” you say again.

“shhh, stop talking.”

“But Sans—“

He stands up suddenly, moving back a bit. His entire body turns the tint of blue. “kid, let’s keep it at a whisper.”

You stand up too, and move towards him, afraid he’d leave you alone. “Wait—“ Your foot gets caught on the lip of the bathtub, and you fall forward, and hit your forehead on the toilet. “Ahhhh,” you moan, rubbing your skin.

“fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck.” Sans grabs a towel and hands it to you, kneeling down to help. He grabbed a hand towel and pressed it to your head, while you wrap yourself from the cold. “sorry kid.”

“Blue,” you mumble. “More blue.”

“you’re not making much sense kid,” he chuckles, his color fading away.

“No more… red.” You point at his tie, and towels, and socks, and the curtains on the shower. “Too… too much red. More… more blue,” you rasp, before touching his face.

His color doesn’t return, but he doesn’t push you away. He places his own hand on yours, and rubbed his thumb against your skin.

The light hum of his body carries to you. It feels soft and calm, like a kitten purring.

“Cat.”

“you’re the one nuzzling into me, kiddo.” He stands up, letting your hand fall away from him, and gestures to the tub. “better get in before it gets cold.”

When you sit back down, you put your back to him, and use the hand towel to cover your chest. It was clear now that the blue was a disgusted and uncomfortable color. Every time it showed he could see your body, and would then move away or close his eyes. It all made sense. Now that you knew and thought about it, you don’t want him in there with you.

“Please leave,” you manage to say above a whisper.

“huh?” he replies, pausing mid reach for the shampoo.

“I-I can do this alone,” you stutter, pulling tighter into yourself.

He gives a nervous laugh. “what’s with the cold _ shoulder _?” He places a hand on your shoulder, but you pull away from him, causing water to spill over the tub.

“I’m disgusting! Please just leave!” You shout so loud your voice cracks, and you blame it on the volume and not the sadness of realizing what a beast you had become.

The magic in the air turns soft and colder, and you wonder if you made him mad or made him upset. “kiddo, i don’t think you’re disgusting. why do you—“

“You won’t look at me. That blue is a sign of being uncomfortable isn’t it?”

“no, no it’s not. you gotta believe me.” He sounds sad, and you can hear him move closer to you. “i can’t really explain it. you’re so young…” He trails off, realizing his mistake.

“I’m not… young anymore.” You bury into your knees, and sigh. “How much do I not know?”

He laughs nervously, and you hear the clank of bones sitting on the ground. “that’s a big question. to be honest, you probably know more than anyone should.”

You look up and slightly turn your head. “Do I know more than you?”

“let’s not get ahead of ourselves. academically, no. experience in life? also no.”

You giggle. “Am I allowed to ask questions?”

You remember hours upon hours of being told no questions. Being told you were too young, too annoying, and the punishments that followed those questions were always severe.

“course you are.”

“What’s a star?”

He chuckles suddenly, and you can hear the rattling as he shakes his head. “it’s a gas. it’s burning gas in space, and we see it in the future.”

“What does that mean?”

“light takes some time to travel. it travels so fast that we thinks it’s instant. but the star is so far away that it takes years and years after it’s done something to see it. some stars might have stopped burning, but we don’t know.”

“Can you slow down light?”

“not in our lifetime. maybe one day.”

You turn your head and body most of the way around, and see Sans with his eyes closed, leaning his head on the wall. He seems much more peaceful that way. “How old are you?”

“old,” he replies plainly.

“What number?”

“over 1000.”

“That’s old.”

“but young enough to still be kicking.” 

A Few Thoughts

_ I don’t feel numb anymore but I am afraid that if I start to feel things, will it be the last I ever feel? _

Dinner

The bath continued on for about an hour, with you slowly washing your hair and body, as sans answered all of your questions. He spoke slowly and used words you already knew to help explain, and it was nice that he treated you as an equal.

When the plug was pulled and you draped the towel around your shoulders, you step out and begin to put on the clothes you took off before.

“whatcha doin kiddo?” Sans asks, his back turned to you.

“Getting dressed.”

“don’t put on those clothes. pap went out and got you a couple outfits.”

You retie the towel around you, how you’ve seen other women do it, and kicked the sweatpants back to the corner. “What do I do with the clothes?”

“i’ll wash them. it’s okay. let me go grab your outfit and then we can finally get to a normal day.”

He gives a little salute, all without turning around, before walking through the door, and shutting it gently behind you.

The water drips onto your shoulders, and you walk to the mirror. You look better, given how you looked that morning. Your face is fuller, and your ribs are harder to see. The scars all around your body had faded until they were barely visible, and your eyes weren’t sunken anymore.

You also start to notice that the fat around your butt and chest was growing, and you wondered if that was the beginnings of you growing up.

Through the door you can hear Sans talking to his brother, and you didn’t want to eavesdrop again. Given how they had only talked about you since you’ve met them, you didn’t want to hear anymore pity or sadness. Granted, you’d rather have that than harsh words, but kind and understanding words were what you really need right now.

There is a soft knock on the door, and you jump a bit. “hey, i got your clothes.” Strange. You could’ve sworn Sans was downstairs. You didn’t hear him walk up. Sans cracked the door just a bit, before mashing them through the opening. “grab them at anytime but hopefully soon. my hand is tired.”

You grab them, and they feel soft under your fingertips. You inspect them and pull out underwear and a bra. Wait a bra? How does this thing even work? “Do I wear all of it?” you ask, hoping to get out of it.

“well we don’t want you walking around half naked.”

Perhaps you could hide it somewhere until you figure out how to work it. You pull the panties up, but much to your dismay the elastic around the legs and waistband is harsh and tight. You were used to too big clothes. Not covering clothes. It felt like it was squeezing your thighs. The other clothes seem to be a skirt and a blouse. You couldn’t just _ not _wear underwear. So you ignore the feeling and pull the rest up onto your body.

You open the door to show Sans, and he gives some sort of sound between a giggle and snort. “you are not good at the clothes thing.”

“What?” 

He moves closer and begins to tuck in your blouse into the skirt, and takes the ribbon that you had put in your hair, and ties it loosely around the collar of the shirt. He bends down and pulls the socks up to your knees, and buttons the cuffs of your sleeves. “you almost had it. a c+ for effort.”

“It feels weird.” You play with the hem of the skirt, and try to smooth it out. The skirt itself was a baby blue, and the socks were white and smooth. The blouse was white as well, with yellow cufflinks and a red ribbon.

“you look _ sea _-sational.”

“What?” You look down again and realize you do, in fact, kind of look like a sailor. “Oh.”

“do you not like it?” His smile flickers a tiny bit.

“I like the colors. I think I like blue the most now.”

He sticks his hands in his pockets, and that’s when you notice he’s removed his red tie and black vest, and instead has a little blue pocket square in his shirt pocket.

You lean closer and poke it, feeling his ribs underneath. “We’re matching now,” you say.

He looks down and shrugs. “i guess we are. A-hoy matey.”

“Oh! I remembered a joke!” You smile widely and clasp your hands together, giddily jumping in place. “What did one sea say to the other?”

Sans places a hand on his chin, and strokes it, cocking a brow to seem as if he’s thinking very hard. “‘why so _ blue _?’”

“No—“

“‘_ isle _be back soon’?”

“No not that ei—“

“‘don’t be such a _ beach _’?”

“This was the wrong joke to pick.”

He raises his hands in surrender, backing down from his endless stream of puns. “okay i give up. what did it say?”

“Nothing, it just waved.” 

Sans looks down at you, and you swear his eyes get little stars in them. “oh my god. you’re a natural.”

You smile at him, revealing a little crack in your tooth from a particularly bad night.

“are you hungry? i can make some chicken and rice porridge.”

“Starving.”

The two of you walk down, and see Papyrus at the table, with books open and covering the entire surface. He seems completely neutral, until he looks up. Somehow his entire face lights up and rises from his seat, knocking the chair to the ground.

“WOWIE HUMAN! YOU LOOK AMAZING!” He walks over (which only takes him about two steps because of his long legs) and pulls you into a hug, lifting you from the ground. “I GOT LOTS OF HELP FROM THE WORKERS AT THE BOUTIQUE. THEY TOLD ME I SHOULD PICK SOMETHING THAT MATCHED YOUR COMPLEXION AND SENSE OF STYLE. I DIDN’T KNOW SKIN HAD SO MANY SHADES AND “UNDERTONES” SO THEY SHOWED ME THIS SKIRT AND I THINK ITS LOOKS LOVELY!”

He says all of this while shaking you around, and you can only meekly squeak a thank you before he sets you down.

“AND I’VE BEEN READING ABOUT HUMAN ANATOMY TO HELP BETTER ACCOMMODATE TO HAVING YOU LIVE HERE. AND FROM WHAT I’VE SEEN YOU NEED TO BE MUCH MORE… SQUISHY.

“SO I’M GOING TO MAKE SURE YOU EAT FOUR MEALS A DAY UNTIL YOU HAVE FILLED OUT THE WEIGHT CHART FOR YOUR HEIGHT.”

He pushes you towards the table and sits you down in a seat, and then places a plate in front of you. Grilled chicken is piled high in front of you, maybe six inches from the table. Then, next to the chicken mountains, he places a large salad bowl filled with rice porridge with a soup spoon (the ones used to stir the soup).

“EAT UP, HUMAN.” He winks and gives you two thumbs up, before turning to continue cooking.

You stare at the mission before you, unsure of where to start.

“don’t mind him,” Sans says, sitting next to you. “he likes to cook and has a heart bigger than his head sometimes.”

You shake your head, unsure if you’re saying no or just in disbelief.

“you might need this.” Sans waves his hand in the air, and a salt shaker appears in his palm, accompanied by the smell of ice and winter. “he rarely seasons anything.”

Sans shakes quite a bit of salt into the bowl, and stirs it around for you. He pushes it towards you, and starts making pieces of chicken disappear, before reappearing looking much more golden and crispy. You don’t question him yet, but remind yourself to ask him later.

You take the large spoon and begin to sip from it, tasting mostly rice, cream, and salt, but not bad altogether. You look to Sans, and he senses you’re about to offer him some. “can’t eat the stuff, kid. goes right through me.” He chuckles, because it was obviously a joke, but you stare at his chest and wonder how does a skeleton eat?

You eat until all the chicken has been replaced, and Sans leans back in his chair, and starts to snore.

You take a piece and begin to munch on it, and feel a bit of guilt for having kept Sans up as long as you did.

When another loud snore escapes his nasal cavity, Papyrus turns around, and rolls his eye lights. “LAZY BONES. SLEEPS ANYWHERE HE CAN.”

You giggle with a mouth full of food, as you watch a blue magic bubble appear from his nose. He barely cracks one socket to wink at you, and continues to make the bubble grow. You laugh more as the bubble eventually hits the chicken pile and knocks it over. It must be at least a foot or two feet wide now.

After letting the bubble grow until it was the size of the table, Sans looks at you with one eye, and gives a small, “achoo.”

The magic pops and cracks and creates a rain of blue sparkles that land all over your food. Papyrus jumps and whips his skull around, glaring at his brother. “SANS! DON’T DISTRACT THE HUMAN FROM EATING. SHE NEEDS NOURISHMENT!”

“sorry bro didn’t mean to invade you _ bubble. _”

“HUMAN DON’T LISTEN TO HIM! HE’S A TERRIBLE INFLUENCE.”

“aw, you don’t mean that. i’m just _ chicken _to see if she’s okay.”

“AH! I COME HOME AND THE FIRST THING YOU DO IS TORTURE ME WITH PUNS!”

“you’re smiling.”

“AND YOU OVERDO IT!”

Papyrus throws the dirty dishes into the sink (well, slams them carefully) and stomps away, his heavy feet thudding the ground as he walks. As he leaves, you see that he was still smiling, you assume that is a good sign.

You look to Sans, who seemed pretty pleased with himself, and take another bite of chicken to break the now every silence of his brother being gone.

With one piece in your mouth, you grab another and wave it at Sans, wanting him to eat with you. “okay, if you say so.” He takes a bite as well, and swallows, but you see nothing drop.

“magic,” he says.

“Where does it go?”

He gives a wicked grin, and lets a long, cyan tongue slip through his teeth. “i absorbed it. let’s me eat and taste and get energy for magic.”

“Can I touch it?”

“uh, no. sticky kid hands don’t taste good.”

“But my hands aren’t even sticky!”

“how would you feel if i stuck my fingers in your mouth?”

You pout because you know he’s right, but you still want to see what it feels like. It looks like a waterbed, not that you ever had one.

“maybe one day,” he relents, taking another piece from the pile.

“When?”

“when you learn just how smooth that was.”

A Few Thoughts

_ He makes me smile, and laugh, and feel safe. But I don’t know about him, and I certainly don’t know enough about me. _

  
  
  


  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Wow guys!! My first work!! I had this idea in my back pocket for years but never thought I would actually get the chance to share it. I remember writing this in class and my friend telling me how much she thought about my writing. 
> 
> The second chapter is in works as we speak, and I hope not to be one of the writers who leaves you hanging for months on end. I hope you enjoyed and feel free to ask me any questions!


End file.
